Black Betty
Golden Classics Nico held a seance for himself and recovered these fragments of memory: -- The cover band in Red's is great, but even shouting, she can't hear you, and her hair looks black in this light. Whoa, Black Betty. She shakes her head, you have to read the "I can't hear you" off her wide, grinning lips, and it's mutual. Third date. Her eyes and the frames of her glasses sparkle like the bubbles on the counter from spilled drinks. Your arm brushes cold condensation on an empty glass. You aren't sure when you started kissing her. She reminds you of someone you loved in highschool, but she tastes like long islands instead of pineapple chapstick. The volume is fine, now that you don't need to hear. Everything is fine. -- You've heard this song three times today already, through the tinny speakers on the little kitchen radio. Dad keeps it on the classic rock station. The sound of it, the taste of the tap water, the enameled ducks circling the glass, all old things, are all comforting. Through the kaleidoscope cup you see her come in, black dress swishing, laughing over her shoulder. "Hey, stranger," She greets you. She'd volunteered her red jeep for the journey West. "We're worried about you." "Outta mind?" You ask, and she makes a face, hearing it from the window sill. "Stop calling that in." You swear you're not, and catch her in a hug. Childhood friends and cousins you only see at the odd Christmas move into the kitchen to chat, and laugh. Grandma had been sick a long time, and now it's over. You're all thankful for the end. -- You tap a rhythm on the steering wheel, watching trucks chug up the winding road. The mountain air is cold, you're surprised that you don't hate it. The door handle thunks and she bounces back into the passenger seat with a hoard of gas station rations hugged to her chest, a gold band sparkling on her finger. You smirk. The finest honeymoon two teachers' salaries can afford. "What?" "Ready?" "I'm always ready." Bam-ba-lam -- The tune's been stuck in your head since before you woke up. You brushed your teeth with baking soda because you'd already packed the toothpaste. You don't understand why the toothpaste is packed but the baking soda isn't. You spit in the sink, and you realize this is the last time you'll ever spit in this sink. You commit the moment to memory, and then realize this is a stupid thing to remember. "That child aint mine," You mumble and rinse the brush. "It is." You thought she was joking, but she wasn't. -- Sitting on the floor while you brush the knots from her soft red hair, Marcy sings to distract herself from the trauma. Today, it's a song she probably shouldn't have learned. "That child is wild, bam-ba-lam," She whines, and Betty stands in the sunlit doorway, grocery bags in either hand. You grin up at her, and wonder if you're in trouble. Bambalam Bedlam Nico had been tossing and turning all night, the sound of an electric guitar marching towards the inner recesses of his mind, maddening him; the shattered spectres floating around his room becoming increasingly abstract and colorful. '"Damn eyes,"' he cursed to himself, though the words meant nothing. He thought to give the shades a voice to keep him company but felt he'd been selfish enough tonight. He placed a finger onto the bags under his eyes; he still hadn't caught up on sleep since the '"month-long"' expedition into the Thorns. He could see the artificial sunlight begin to creep in the fake windows of his empty Hollow bedroom, a single ephemeral hand turning to greet the morning with a wave. As the hours rolled onward he forced himself to get up to '"feed the fishes". Ivy was asleep on the stairwell, apparently after another marathon of netflix and soap operas. He did not dawdle, again climbing back into bed only to be haunted by whatever lies between real and not. Two more hours of restlessness and introspection saw Nico flare with anger and then calm, the Wrath unfocused as he mouthed the words '''"I have to-", when finally his eyes closed just long enough for Dreams to claim him.'' The disinheirited prince entered the castle on horseback, the drawbridge pulling up a split second after he was safely inside the walls. He had become a regular in these lands now, though that did not falter the twin guards from blocking his path as he dismounted. Not even hearing what they had to say, his speech and heart heavily burdened, he interrupted them. "I have to-" "We know why you're here, rogue," said the knight captain, his perfect hair matching his heroic pedigree. While his words seemed cruel and blunt, he had the look of pity on his face. The other knight stayed quiet in the armor the king had gifted her. She was comfortable in the barding, but remains unprepared for the responsibilities it represents. The captain continued. "You're to report to the Ivory Throne immediately." The prince shook his head. "You misunderstand. I have no need to see the king, but I must speak with the princess quickly." He tried to press past the knight, but was shoved back by the man's crimson shield. "I do not misunderstand, sir. You are to speak with the king. You have no other option." The prince sighed both despair and relief. It felt good, having no choice, for a second. The courtroom looked just as he'd left it. As the king in golden armor rose from his white throne and descended the stairs to greet the foreign prince, the latter surveyed the room. The housecarl stayed rigid at his post. The two exchanged glances, letting the prince know his friend put his liege before his battle-brother. The jesters swam and riggled about in their tank, their sharpened nails grinding into the glass, cutting it deep but failing to cause a leak. While the prince could not hear them, he could feel the jesters' hissing shake his bones. "Welcome, rogue. I know you here to speak with one of my favored daughters. I know how she fancies you, and so I wish to speak with you first." The king's smile beamed sunlight onto the prince's black cowl. "Yes, my king. I have come to know her well during my service to you. I... fancied her myself for-" The king's grin had turned to grimace. "I have given my life to keep my vassals safe, rogue. I care for them as they are family to me. I only want them to be happy; you know as much about me. If you ever, ever hurt her-" A tear formed on the prince's eyelid, but as it careened down his cheek it left cracks on his face in its wake. The prince had served the king faithfully despite his fealty to lands of his own. He felt he had done his best to do right by the just leader, and this is what it had come to anyway. As his blackened skin shattered and crumbled, revealing the light blue flesh beneath, Nico came to his senses. In a flash the superfluous illusion disintegrated. All that remained was Nico the shifty rogue and Liberty the fallen king. Nico's Winter ink pulled at his flesh, urging him to wallow in sadness longer, but Nico had had enough. Frozen arrowheads became crimson flames on his flesh. "You have no right, old man. She loved you first! All this time I've been beating myself up because of how my own memories have turned her into a silver medal, and all the while I've been the one standing in your shadow. I'd of never met her if you weren't six feet under, and still I have to take up your vigil!" The copper statue stood there in shock, fear visible in his turquoise eyes. The Winter-fueled dreamscape had planned a lengthy guilt trip for the exhausted Ice King this night, but he had gone off-script and lucid. The real Liberty would have interrupted with a rousing speech of his own design, but Dream Liberty lacked the charisma to know what to say. Icicle tattoos melted away into leaves of gold. "You shoot up some werewolves on the West Side, I have to drive them out of town. You become syzygy with The Riveter, I have to save freeholdsmen from her insanity. You make googly eyes at some nutso Scarecrow Minister and now they have me reading through her mail! I even managed to avenge your death, and apparently you need more avenging. I've done right by you, Liberty, and I've never even met you." Nico wanted to cry. He'd been yelling at the dream construct so hard the back of his throat felt raw. He knew none of this was Liberty's fault and that Liberty wasn't really here, but it was relieving to let it out at this mannequin. The onyx castle painted on his shoulder was overgrown in thick green vines creeping down his arm. "Look man, I don't want to hurt her anymore than you want her hurt, but this isn't right. Lisa deserves better than the best I can give her, and that's not fair to either of us. Yes it's going to hurt, but we're all going to be hurt by it. I've done enough good AND enough damage. It needs to end. If nothing works out and everything tanks, at least we can be alone together. Life sucks, but that doesn't mean we should just accept it how it is! Ugh!" Nico bowed his head to examine the palms of his hands. He didn't know why. He felt a little down; his speech had been completely ad-libbed and it showed in its quality. Dream Liberty responded with an indignant huff. He opened his mouth to say something probably insightful, hopefully wise, but was washed out by a loud thud and a flash of red. Nico snapped awake and clutched his head for the pain. He'd hit his head on the headboard while he was sleeping. He groaned and headed for the kitchen for some coffee. It was going to be one of those days. '' Play Me Black Betty It was one week later and it was a time as good as any. Nico closed the door to his room and locked it. It seemed the most appropriate place to do this sort of thing: here it was quiet, lonely, and cold. He already felt the ice of his mantle stabbing into him; Winter's soft embrace turned to desperate bindings. Nico kneeled down on the floor; he still wanted to show his former patron its due reverance despite his growing need to leave it behind. ''WHY? Winter's question was simple, whispered into the Ice King's ear, pained and filled with Sorrow. Nico bowed his head, closed his eyes. The Wyrd inside of him pulled and twisted. Its connection to Winter had made it strong. It too fought Nico's convictions. Nico felt tears well up in his eyes, but he couldn't tell who was crying. WHY? Nico wiped his face. He thought of how Winter had taken him in when he needed it, how Winter had found him Riff, Wolfcall, and Iris. They weren't the world's best friends, but they were the first friends he could remember. They gave him stability, a foundation on which he rebuilt himself, the Thorn-riddled burglar turned model inmate. He thought of Lisa, the Winter King he had loved, did love. The salt in his tears and the tremble in his hands filled his mind with doubt. WHY? He shook himself out of it. Winter had not always been so kind. Iris had shown cruelty in the face of Nico's Sorrow. Riff and Wolfcall basked in Winter's silence, hiding their Sorrow behind manufactured facades. Lisa's life was filled with her patron emotion, and all Winter had rewarded her for it was a crown which no one, not even her own courtiers, respected. "Because I refuse to remain hidden anymore!" Biting frost bellowed out of Nico's lungs as he coughed, clutching his chest with his right hand. The air around him seemed to burn; he felt feverish, his blood boiling in his veins. The ice on the inked castle melted away, the frozen slopes of the mountaintop reduced to cragged hills of rock. The snowflakes were as daggers digging beneath his flesh to escape the betrayal. Arrowheads ripped off his body, one by one, only to circle around in the air to puncture him again and again. Nico's vision strained, his eyes darting around, searching for a way to end the pain, but his mind was blank. Besides, closing his eyes only made it hurt worse. "Why am I doing this? Why?" His vision met his left hand, clutching the threads of the small, circular hemp rug he kept on his floor. It'd been a gift from the dryads of Treehouse's Winter Court for helping them with their taxes. He quivered until his eyes focused on the ring he now wore there, a signet topped with ruby. He remembered Black Betty. He remembered his sister, his cousin, his grandmother. The voice of his daughter, then and now from deep in the recesses of his mind, sang him a lullaby to dull the anguish. "I... I remember..." Darkness consumed him, his body slumping to the floor. Winter was gone, but the Ice King was not alone. Category:Fiction